2

Tra’var’s mind was shattered. The pieces were scattered to the winds of chance… or more accurately, the whims of his ancestors.

Their mayaha’s name was Anya, and she was human. He forced himself into a moment of calm and took a good look at her. Her dark red-brown hair was bound back in some sort of tight braid, and her scale-less skin was a pale shade of gold. She had a soft, curvy body, and the lines around her eyes deepened when she smiled.

Her smile was dazzling as he stared at her, entranced.

“We should go somewhere private,” Damos said.

Anya cocked a brow and eyed them both, her hands swallowed up inside of theirs. “I know what the sharhal is and where this is heading. I’m not sure privacy is a good idea right now. We need to talk, not…” she trailed off.

“We have time. As much as you need.” Even as he said it, Tra’var questioned if that was true. They’d only scented her moments ago and he could already feel the first effects of the sharhal—the mating fever. Agitation. Desire. His skin gleamed bright silver, an effect created when his scales tightened.

Scales… qarf.

He glanced over at Damos. His anrik’s skin was as bright as molten gold. Fortunately, he’d unfolded his wings just enough to hide the changes to his back, and his fingers were carefully curled so his talons weren’t visible. He wouldn’t be comfortable until they were away from the others, though. He never was. Damos had never accepted his differences, and until he did, he couldn’t believe anyone else would either.

“Where would you be comfortable?” Tra’var asked Anya.

The question caught her by surprise. “Um. We really can’t talk here. Can we?” She looked around. They were still the center of attention.

“Go already!” a beaming Vardarian female called from the kitchen doorway. She was pointing up to the ceiling. Tra’var didn’t understand what it meant, but Anya must have.

“Thank you. Now get back to work, you meddling female!” Anya called back in passable Vardarian.

Damos sent him a subvocalized message. “She speaks our language. I didn’t expect that.”

“She does.” This female was already surprising them.

“Come with me.” Anya tightened her grip on both their hands as she made her way to the front door, pausing just long enough to let them all collect their coats.

“We’re going outside?” Damos asked.

“It’s snowing out there,” Tra’var warned her.

“Oh! Then this is an even better idea. Come on.” The little female darted out the door without even donning her coat.

They shared a bewildered look and went after her. Wherever she was going, they would follow.

She stepped out into the snow and laughed, arms outstretched and her face tipped up to the sky. “So this is snow?”

“You’ve never experienced this before?” Damos asked.

“Never. I’ve spent time on planets before but always in resort locations—warm weather, beaches, places where beings would come to relax and enjoy themselves.”

“That sounds like a nice way to grow up. My family is from the mountains. I stopped enjoying snow once I was old enough to be expected to help clear it away,” Tra’var said.

“It gets that deep?” Anya looked around. For now, the blanket of snow was minimal. None of them knew exactly what winter would look like in this place because no one had been here before.

“It can.” Damos placed his jacket over her shoulders. The garment was so big it swallowed up her entire body, the edge barely skimming above the snow.

“That’ll take some getting used to, just like everything else about this place.” Anya turned to smile at Damos, her hands on his coat, and Tra’var experienced a pang of jealousy. It was like a hot needle driven into his gut.

He was at her side before he even made a conscious decision to move. “You will have us to keep you warm.”

Damos smirked. “Losing control already?”

Tra’var ignored the jibe. He wasn’t going to admit that the sharhal was already making it difficult to stay rational and patient.

“Uh. Yeah. For the moment, that won’t be necessary. We’ll be out of the weather in a few minutes. This way.” Anya was on the move before she finished speaking. She darted away again, leaving them to follow the tantalizing trail of her pheromones.

“She seems uneasy,” Damos muttered.

“Two strangers just walked into her establishment and claimed she was their mate. If I were in her place, I’d be skittish, too.”

Damos held out his hand, revealing the claws he’d been struggling to hide. “True. Still. You should probably go first.”

“I will not. You outrank me, Damos Arosa. You will go first and I will follow.” Tra’var inclined his head. “It is the way things are.”

Damos snorted. “The only time you say that is when you think it will provide you an advantage.”

“That is your fault. You’re so qarfing stubborn nothing else works.” He pushed his anrik in the direction Anya had gone. “If we don’t move quickly, she’s going to think we don’t want to be with her.”

“If she believes that, she doesn’t understand the sharhal.” Damos grinned so broadly his fangs showed. “Shall we clarify things for her?”

It was the happiest Tra’var had seen him since the day they’d left Vardaria behind. By all the winds that blew, this was a good day.

Perhaps the best day they’d ever had.

Anya climbed the flight of stairs, keeping a firm grip on the railing to avoid slipping on the icy steps. She’d need to sweep them off in the morning and then find some way to keep them free of ice and snow. She had no idea what that entailed, but she’d ask around.

“’Oh, the climate is mild,’ she said. ‘The odds of you being the mate to any of the Vardarians is smaller than a Jeskyran’s junk,’ she said.” She made it to the top of the stairs just as the two males reached the first step. “That is the last time I trust Phaedra fraxxing Kari.”

Still, she couldn’t help but appreciate the view as the two males ascended the stairs. They were striking in every way she could think of, including a few that had her normally slumbering libido perk up and take notice.

They were only halfway to her when she was struck by a totally irrational urge to go back down the icy steps just so she could be with them sooner.

Great. Five minutes after first contact and her brain was already starting to melt into slag. What would she be like in an hour… or a week? She thought about Saral and the shameless, joyful way she interacted with her mates even after all these years.

So… maybe it wouldn’t be all bad. But that depended on who her mates turned out to be. She knew their names and species. That wasn’t a lot to go on.

They really needed to talk.

Damos arrived first and she stepped aside to give him space to join her on the patio. It was protected from the elements by a small shield like the ones the Vardarians used to weatherproof the massive practice arena and parts of the other public spaces. There were plans to eventually cover the entire bridge with one. They’d have to move up the timeline now the weather had changed or the businesses that operated here would be hard pressed to stay open.

Anya knew she was distracting herself with thoughts of business instead of dealing with her more pressing concern—the two males now looking around with interest.

“You live here?” Tra’var asked, nodding toward the door leading inside her apartment.

“I do. The downstairs neighbors are kind of noisy, but the commute is the fastest in town.”

Damos chuckled. “Not as fast as ours. We don’t need to use stairs. We have wings.”

“You work out of your home, too?” She gestured to a pair of chairs. “Actually, don’t answer that just yet. Have a seat. I thought we could talk out here and watch the snow fall. It’s prettier than I expected, and once I open the door this space heats up quickly.

The two males shared a glance. “You don’t want us inside your home?” Damos’ words were even, but she saw the way his expression tightened.

Veth. She was going to have to be honest and hope it didn’t do more damage. “Honestly? No. Because I am already experiencing the first effects of whatever weirdness this is, and I don’t trust myself to make good choices right now. All I know about you are your names.”

“Would it be easier if you spent time with only one of us? I could go and leave you to get to know Tra’var,” Damos said.

“No!” She didn’t want him to go.

His expression softened. Just a little, but it was enough for her to grasp that something else was going on. Tall, dark, and golden had doubts too? Okay. That made her feel a little better.

“Then I will stay.” His lips quirked up into a tiny smile that made her stomach all quivery.

“Good. That’s good. Uh. Sit. I’ll be right back. I don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink before we have this conversation.” And during it. And probably several more afterward.

“You do not need to make us something to drink, mahaya. I am happy to go downstairs and order us something from your tavern,” Tra’var spoke this time.

“If you go back down there, Saral will want to know why you’re not here with me, and then the whole place will watch while you get interrogated. You might think you’re tough, but believe me, that female will have you spilling your deepest secrets inside a few minutes.”

Both of them laughed. “She would take that as a compliment,” Damos muttered.

“You know her?”

“She bought several knives from us. Gifts for her mahoyen when they started a new job… which I now realize must have been to celebrate their coming to work for you,” Damos said, his voice a pleasantly low rumble now.

“Those are yours?” She knew which blades he was talking about. They were identical in almost every aspect save for the color of the handles. They were elegant and oddly beautiful for something so dangerous—as much works of art as practical tools. So these were the craftsmen who’d made them. More information fell into place. “You’re the forge masters I’ve heard some of the others talking about. The ones who made Maggie and Striker’s kes’tarvs.”

Tra’var looked pleased. “We are. They talk about our work?”

“All the time. Maggie was going to take me to your shop someday so I could talk to you about buying a kes’tarv for myself.” The metal baton could extend into a quarterstaff of sorts, serving as simple practical weapon she could keep behind the bar.

“Do you know how to wield one?” Damos asked.

“Uh. No. Maggie was going to show me.”

“We will teach you,” Damos declared. “It would be our honor. Though you will not need one now that we know you are our mahaya. We will protect you.”

Oh no. That wasn’t going to work. She did not need to be protected, cosseted or treated like a Tiskalien ice orchid. “That isn’t necessary. I’ve always taken care of myself. We can add that to the list of things we have to talk about. But not until I get drinks. This won’t take long.”

She shrugged out of the massive coat still draped around her shoulders and handed it back to Damos. Then she slapped her hand on the palm scanner and fled inside the moment the door unlocked.

She needed a moment to think, or at least to try, and that wasn’t going to happen when she was standing next to the twin avatars of temptation on her deck.

Three deep breaths later, she had enough clarity of mind to realize she’d bolted like a scalded peskin. Feeling foolish, she stuck her head back outside. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No. We had intended to enjoy a meal inside with Striker and Maggie and the others.” Tra’var shrugged. “But then you happened.”

“Okay. Two afterburner cocktails and two orders of Almost Heaven coming up.” She ducked back inside, ignoring the exclamations of surprise from her two guests. She was not ready to think of them as her mates. Not even close, in fact.

Her food dispenser was programmed with everything on her bar’s menu, but she didn’t use it. Instead, she tapped out a quick request on her comms and sent it to the kitchen downstairs.

Not five seconds later, she had a response. “On its way.”

“How the hell does she do that?” Anya muttered aloud and went over to the chute she had added to the tavern’s design before they’d even broken ground. It ran from her small eating area to the Bar None’s kitchen.

Sure enough, the little mag-lev platform was already on its way up by the time she got the door open. It held a tray with the requested drinks and desserts, along with a liqueur-laced coffee and an appetizer platter generous enough to feed half the guests seated downstairs.

She picked up the tray, turned, and gave an undignified squeak of surprise when she saw both males in the still-open doorway. They hadn’t set foot inside her place, but they were as close to the threshold as they could manage without crossing it.

“What are you? Space vampires? Can’t you come in without permission?” she asked.

“What is a vampire?” Damos asked.

“A fanged, flying, blood-sucking monster from human folklore that can’t enter a victim’s house without an invitation. It was a bad joke. Forget I said anything. I’ve got our drinks, time to—"

“You think I’m a monster?” Damos stepped back and vanished from sight.

“What? No!” She almost dropped the tray as she raced to the door, afraid he’d already left. If he flew off before she could explain…

Tra’var caught her at the door, removed the tray from her hands, and then stepped back to reveal that Damos hadn’t left. He stood by the railing of her little patio, his hands gripping the metal with his wings spread.

“I’m sorry. I was babbling because I was nervous. That’s all. I know you’re not monsters. You’re Vardarians, and my guests.” She cautiously walked over and stood beside Damos. When he didn’t move, she reached out and placed her hand on his. “Can we try that again?”

They stood in silence long enough Anya decided her overture had been rejected. It wasn’t until she moved away that he reacted. He turned his hand over and captured her fingers with his.

That’s when she noticed his talons.

“You’re wrong. Tra’var is Vardarian. Most beings believe I am a monster.”

There was no missing the darkness in his voice or the hard jut of his jaw as he spoke.

She kept her hand in his and turned to face him. He was so tall she had to tip her head back so she could meet his amber gaze. “Most beings are fraxxing idiots. I don’t know much about you yet, but I already know that whoever you are, you’re not a monster.”

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He hadn’t intended to say it at all. Not yet. But he had and now…

Anya smiled up at him, her eyes a fascinating blend of green and golden brown. Her pheromones swirled around the enclosed space, enticing and enchanting him. She was lovely with a kind smile that deepened the lines at the corners of her mouth. But that kindness was tempered with strength.

“It pleases me that you think so.” He touched her cheek with his free hand, careful to keep his talons away from her soft skin.

She narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth folding downward. “It doesn’t please me to know you think of yourself that way.” She deliberately raised her hand to cover his, pressing it to her cheek. “I don’t know about you, but I came here to get away from other beings’ opinions.”

He waited for her to ask about his talons or why he considered himself something other than Vardarian.

She didn’t. She just stood there quietly and waited.

Tra’var was loud enough for both of them. He threw back his head and laughed long and hard. “It seems our ancestors picked well, my brother.”

To his shock, Anya turned her head and fixed Tra’var with a stare that a sand vipa would envy. “You knew he felt this way and haven’t helped him to work through it? I thought anrik were closer than brothers?”

Tra’v stopped mid-chuckle and raised his arm to show her the scar on his wrist. “We are. Which is why I am delighted to have an ally to help me change his ways. Damos can be as difficult as a gharshtu with a headache.”

“I see. So I’m getting a fixer-upper package.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant, and neither was his translator. “What did you call us?” Damos asked.

Tra’var moved closer, corralling her between them without quite making contact. “I think she said we are what the humans call a work in progress.”

Damos broke the tension with a joke. “That’s accurate enough. Tra’var would starve if not for me and our technology. He has almost no ability to prepare food on his own. Even the food dispenser has been confounded by some of his requests.” He lowered his voice. “Do not agree to try his nagari. He’s convinced it’s edible. I am not.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s still alive. Isn’t he? Thus, it’s edible. In fact, it’s delicious,” Tra’var protested.

It was an exaggeration. Tra’var had improved as a cook over the years, but the banter was safe and did what Damos hoped, making Anya relax. He wanted her to enjoy these moments. As unsettled as he was by the idea that they’d somehow gained a mate, he knew better than to fight this. The sharhal was all-consuming. Trying to resist would only damage their new relationship... and change nothing.

He also knew that in time, she’d change her mind about him. She would realize he was a monster. When that happened, she’d withdraw from him and spend her time with his anrik. It was inevitable. He’d always known that would be the way it went, though maybe with a human female it would take longer. After all, she didn’t have the same biases as a Vardarian female.

Forge and flames, he hoped so.

Her touch calmed him enough that his talons retracted and his scales relaxed. That had never happened before, but this was his mahaya. Her pheromones perfumed the air with a heady scent. If she asked him to fly to the stars and bring her back one to wear in her hair, he’d do it. He was losing his qarfing mind.

“Fortunately, I happen to have three of the best chefs on the planet working for me. Once I find out what nagari is, I’ll have Saral make it and then we can do a taste test,” Anya said with a laugh.

“It’s noodles with a simple cheese sauce,” Tra’var explained.

“Noodles with…” Anya burst out laughing. “I didn’t know Vardarians had a version of mac and cheese! Even I can make that. We are definitely having a taste test one of these days. Maybe for once I won’t come in last.”

“You can’t cook?” Tra’var looked puzzled. “But you own a tavern.”

“I know my strengths. I can run a bar and mix a mean cocktail, but cooking isn’t something I ever learned.”

“Your mother never taught you?” Tra’var asked.

Anya laughed even louder. “My mother? Fraxx no. She taught me how to count cards and shoot straight. She doesn’t cook. Ever.”

“She sounds formidable,” Damos said. Most of the Vardarian females he’d met held a different kind of power. They were rarer than males and used that to their advantage any way they could.

“That’s a polite word for it. When she gets back, she’s going to want to meet you both. If she doesn’t scare you off, maybe there’s hope for us.” Anya clamped her lips together, her eyes wide. She clearly hadn’t intended on saying that last bit out loud.

“Nothing is going to scare us off, Anya. That is not how this works.” Tra’var set a gentle hand on their mahaya’s neck, brushing his thumb over the side of her throat. “You are ours, and we are yours. Forever. I know that is not the human way, but so far, every match between our races has plotted the same course. We will be together for the rest of our lives.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t. There haven’t been that many matches yet. What if we’re not really compatible? I mean, I know about the Reekar. Some of your species have gone into the sharhal with one of them but the bond doesn’t last. Right?”

Damos fought the urge to snarl. Had he been wrong? Was she already looking for a way to escape?

Tra’var must have sensed his unease because he hurried to explain. “That bond doesn’t always last. It also doesn’t produce children. With every other species, the matings are permanent.”

“And… children?” Anya’s voice was suddenly softer.

“Yes,” Tra’var said quickly.

Anya shook her head. “Just like that? Boom. Forever and a family. It can’t be that easy.”

Damos sensed this conversation was in danger of falling out of orbit and making a messy crater on impact. He didn’t know what the issue was. Too many were in play at the moment to even guess. “Is this too much? Too soon?”

Tra’var shot him a surprised look. “Too soon?”

“Yes. It’s too… everything,” Anya agreed. “So, how about we sit down and talk for a while? Get to know each other. Unless…” She sighed. “How long do we have?”

“Long enough,” Tra’var said. “We’re young enough that the sharhal will take time to reach full strength. A day or so, maybe.”

“A day?” Anya repeated, her voice rising half an octave. She blew out a breath that held a note of sharp laughter. “Okay. I can work with that. This might be the shortest courtship in history, but it’s something.”

“Courtship?” Damos asked. His translator had a definition of the word, but he suspected it meant something different in the human lexicon.

Anya smiled. “The time when a couple, or trio, or whatever, learn about each other and decide if they want to be together permanently. Usually, it involves trying to impress their potential mate with whatever skills they have to offer. In this case, I think we can skip that part.”

“No.” Tra’var’s voice was firm.

She turned her head to look back at him. “No?”

“No. We will not be skipping that part. I’m looking forward to showing you what Damos and I are good at.” He grinned, and Damos caught on to his meaning.

“I think we should start with a demonstration of how well we work together,” he said. He drew her into his arms as Tra’var moved in closer behind her. This time they didn’t keep their distance. They pressed up against her, sandwiching her soft body between them. Tra’var dipped his head to nibble on her earlobe as Damos allowed himself to lean down and brush a barely there kiss to Anya’s lovely mouth.

“Oh…” Anya breathed, and then her arms were around his neck as she rose on her toes to kiss him back with an eagerness that nearly shattered his control.

No female had ever kissed him so willingly. It was… he stopped trying to search for the words and focused on Anya. The warmth of her lips. The scent of her arousal and need. She fit perfectly between them, and something was achingly intimate about sharing her this way with Tra’var.

In time, Tra’var turned her toward him, claiming their mate’s mouth with a tender hunger that echoed his own. She was just as eager with his anrik as she had been with him, and it was surprisingly arousing to watch them together. His hands still lingered on her body, the scent of her wrapping around him like an invisible caress.

They’d never done this. Not once in all their years together. But this was different. This was Anya. Their shining star. Their mahaya.